


The Ways of Dolls

by littleartemis



Series: Toys [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleartemis/pseuds/littleartemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A comforting paradox...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ways of Dolls

Cold, hard, plastic,  
a comforting paradox.  
As they sit in your arms,  
warming the soul.

It becomes  
a secret joy,  
in a lonely heart.

Cradled, they watch,  
painted eyes gazing.  
Into the soul, they see,  
they learn,  
they heal.

A child with a toy,  
daughter with her doll,  
son always with his figure,  
of a broken worshipped  
hero.

They all come with tales,  
we make them,  
we learn them,  
we are them.

Some of them  
live their lives,  
on shelves.  
Others, lost in  
sand boxes,  
toy boxes,  
or preserved in  
packaging.

They’re kept,  
fixed,  
replaced,  
because many times  
will the heart,  
need to mend itself.  
A child within oneself  
seeking the familiar comfort  
from a cold, hard, plastic form.

They change;  
fragile, porcelain skin,  
ceramic, plastic, cloth;  
cloth clothes,  
or painted plastic;  
glass, or painted eyes;  
long flowing hair,  
or plastic once again.  
In the end, you choose,  
between hard plastic,  
untouchable fragility,  
or human like comfort.

They come  
with many names,  
brands,  
types;  
porcelain,  
china,  
play arts,  
figurine,  
doll.  
Still it’s all the  
same,  
in the end.

They will find a home  
with us.  
Taken from confinement  
into welcoming arms.

Children seeking toys,  
like stuffed animals,  
or dolls,  
that’ll listen to recent troubles.  
School, home, mischief,  
if it can’t run  
it will listen.

Christmas,  
Birthdays,  
Easter,  
we all have  
so many opportunities,  
to give a friend.

A gift received,  
may it be familiar, fragile,  
or cold,  
is a cherished comfort  
for a lonely heart untold.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the companions to 'You, Me, Us'. Also written in grade 12 while I was lonely and depressed.


End file.
